


the ship of theseus

by ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dadza, Flower Language, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Overworking, Panic Attacks, Poor Toby Smith | Tubbo, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, eret redemption arc (:, ozymandias because its dreamsmp, she/her pronouns for eret, the major character death tag is only there cause wilbur and schlatt are canonically dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes/pseuds/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes
Summary: "The ship of Theseus, also known as Theseus' paradox, is a thought experiment that raises the question of whether an object that has had all of its components replaced remains fundamentally the same."-Tubbo, on rebuilding.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Eret & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Everyone, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 27
Kudos: 261





	the ship of theseus

Tubbo nails down the first board.

In this building of a new place, there are echoes in the air. He can feel them running down his fingertips. Tubbo placed the first block in the wall. Tubbo tore the first block down. This is repetition. This is right.

He hears Wilbur’s voice, distant and pumped with static. “I am Ozymandias, king of kings.” He swings the hammer, the lump that sat in his throat for hours coming back again. His eyes are too dry to cry any more. “Look upon my work, ye mighty, and despair.”

He swallows. No more crying over past things, no more old poems. There’s no time for that anymore, not when there is so much work ahead of them. He breathes in, sharp and controlled, and holds the air in his lungs until all of his sorrow has slipped between his fingers and left him dry. There’s no room for former kings.

There is only the future, from here on out. It’s a new era.

Gods, Tubbo hopes it is.

(Tubbo and Tommy sit on a bench, in a different life. It does not overlook a duck. There is no house behind it. They sit on a bench and overlook a bay, so much younger and freer and less tired than they are these days. Tommy wears a suit modelled after his hero and a grin with no chipped teeth.

“Where do we go now?” Tubbo asks.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says, putting his arm around Tubbo’s shoulder. “Where do you want to go?”)

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose, probably holding back a headache. He looks, terribly, gloriously, achingly, like Wilbur. Back when Wilbur still got headaches over doing what had to be done.

“Goodnight, Big Man. I’ll see you in the morning.” Tommy stumbles away, and Tubbo wonders where he’s going. His home is gone. Maybe his cabin will still be there, maybe tonight he’ll be able to stand being out there all alone. Or maybe he’s going to Ponk’s house. Someone needs to tell him to wrap the cut on his head.

Tubbo should probably be heading there too, but there’s so much work left to be done.

Eret comes by, a few hours in when Tubbo is still trying to dam all the water. “King of kings,” Wilbur’s memory whispers again.

She presses a healing potion into his hands and drags him under the still-standing original tree. L’Mantree. It’s fucking ridiculous, so why is it making his chest hurt? “This is the only healing potion we have left, so you’re still going to have to rest for a while,” she says.

“Someone else should have it,” Tubbo mutters. He swallows a hundred colours of fireworks. “I’m not really hurt, Eret.”

“Shut it.” Tubbo blinks at the unexpected sternness in her voice, and reminds himself, pointedly, that Eret has been a ruler much longer than he has.

He drinks, and he wonders if this is forgiveness. He doesn’t know if he forgives Eret yet. He doesn’t know if he can ever forgive her.

Tubbo’s skin begins to knit itself together a little faster than before. Not quite healed. Still scarring.

Tubbo stands up and tries to hide his shaking knees. “I have to go. Thank you, Eret.”

Her hand brushes against his wrist as if she’s about to grab him before she thinks better of it. “Are you sure you don’t want to rest a little first? There’s always time.”

Tubbo rubs his arm. “There isn’t though. That’s the problem.”

He goes back to work, and Eret joins him. They’re there until the sun begins to peek over the horizon, and still, the place is in tatters. He supposes that the dawn means a little more, now that they’ve just watched so many sunsets.

(Tubbo sleeps under the tree, Eret’s cloak thrown over his shoulders, and he dreams of standing where Wilbur once stood. Of starting a revolution, of losing his home. He dreams of the last time he felt Phil’s hand in his hair, and he dreams about swords.)

-

When he wakes up, there is a warm light on his face. He stirs gently, basking in it. But then he opens his eyes and sees fire.

Tubbo scrambles to his feet, heart beating so hard he feels sick. He’s so focused on trying to tame his breathing that he hardly notices when Eret appears at his side. “Calm down,” she says gently. “It’s just the flag. If we’re going to rebuild, I figure we should start with that.”

Tubbo has tears swimming in the back of his head again, but for some reason, they won’t come out. He lets out a long, shaky breath and wraps his arms around himself.

(A fire burns the forest down. A fire burns a different flag. A fire lives in Tommy’s eyes, the peaks and troughs in a synchronized dance- Cat and Mellohi, L’Manberg and Pogtopia, Wilbur and the right thing to do.)

“Do you think I’ll be good at it? Being the President, I mean.”

“You’ll do great, Tubbo. I know you will.”

-

Tubbo makes speeches, in between reconstruction. He comes up with the words and Quackity writes them down, and it is nice to work with someone again. He gives eulogies. He gives motivation. Sometimes, he finds himself trying to write a speech for his next conversation with Tommy, and has to stop himself. He shouldn’t turn their next encounter into a script. Whenever that next encounter is coming.

(“It’s been you and me, Tubbo. From the very beginning.”)

Eret sits on the crumbled remains of the foundation of the old walls. “Nice view,” Tubbo remarks, smiling at the rising sun. He sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest and stifling a yawn. He can hardly remember the last time he wasn’t awake for the sunrise.

“It really is.” They sit in silence for a long time, breathing in the morning air. There’s a hint of frost in it now. “I’m sorry for what I did. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before, and I should’ve.” Tubbo breathes in and out, remembering Fundy’s hand on his chest as he panicked over Tommy’s empty hospital bed. _Breathe with me, Tubbo. Just like that. Come on, just breathe like I’m doing. It’s alright._ “I know you’ve accepted me to your side, but can you ever forgive me?” Eret’s voice is stuffy and full of tears. Tubbo feels like he’s invading a scene he was never meant to witness.

“I don’t know,” Tubbo replies honestly. “I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet.” Eret’s face stays carefully controlled, but Tubbo can see her hands shaking. “I think I will be, though. Not today. And not tomorrow. But I’m gonna be ready, someday.”

Eret swipes at her cheek. “Thanks.”

They watch the sunrise in silence together, a gentle peace in the air between them.

(Tubbo does not sleep for long, that morning, but while he does, he dreams of a garden. He plants white poppies as everyone dozes. He makes himself a crown out of daffodils. He still remembers Techno, in one of those quiet moments in the sky, reading through a book of flower language. White poppies are for the end of a war.

Daffodils mean apologies. Daffodils mean rebirth. If he has to be the king of something, Tubbo would like to be the king of that.)

-

“I want to set up a trade deal.” Tubbo holds in his tired yawn, squinting across the table at Bad. He should have listened when Phil told him to get better sleep before this meeting, but Schlatt had left so much paperwork behind and he didn’t feel right just letting Quackity take it all.

“Ok,” Tubbo replies. “What- what do you want to-” he cuts himself off with another yawn and wishes he wasn’t so sensitive to caffeine- “what do you want to trade?”

Bad’s face has always been hard to read, but right now Tubbo couldn’t even guess as to the emotion on it. Bad pushes his glasses up his nose. “The Badlands are most in need of rails, at the moment. We have plenty of food to give in exchange if you’re willing to set up a trade agreement. I understand you've lost Technoblade's supply.”

Tubbo’s chest hurts. He yawns again and feels like he could sob with how much he wants to lay down and go to bed. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. I’ll consult, uh… I’ll consult Quackity on it. But it sounds like a good deal, and- and L’Manberg would be happy to have a trade alliance with the Badlands. Thank you.”

Bad drums his fingers against the table and sighs. Tubbo pushes himself up, mentally crossing this meeting off his to-do list. “Tubbo?”

“Yeah?”

“Get some rest, please. You look like you need it.”

Tubbo smiles and adds 'find a way to hide eye bags' to his to-do list. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

(Tubbo hasn’t talked to Fundy since Wilbur died. He stays up in his room and only comes down to help rebuild. He never talks.

Niki tells him that this is how Fundy grieves. “He did the same thing when his fox died. Normally Wilbur is the one to help him through it, but I’m trying. I don’t think he’s eating the food I give him, though.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I wish I knew how to help.”

Tubbo goes to Wilbur’s headstone and tries to ask for advice. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed when the only thing he hears is the wind.)

-

The first thing that Tubbo does once the water is dammed up is tear down the podium.

Even looking at the thing makes his breath hitch, makes his stomach turn. Every festival decoration is torn down while he should be sleeping because he can’t sleep right with them still up.

(He still dreams about the minutes before, about practising his speech in the mirror and scrambling to find a new button to replace the one that fell off Schlatt’s suit. “Die mad about it,” Schlatt had spit.

The potency is sharp enough to hurt.)

He finds Fundy digging through his chests when he gets home.

“What are you doing?” Fundy jumps, but when he turns around he’s snarling.

“Technoblade. He needs to be taken down, Tubbo. You know that as well as I do.” A cold chill runs down his spine. Tubbo swallows and tastes blood, puts his hands out and barely suppresses the shaking.

He tries to get the words out but they don’t come. The air gets thinner (smells like ozone), the floor is (trembling legs), his hands are (fingernails, dragging across concrete).

“Fundy, you don’t- please. Fundy.” His voice keeps breaking and he doesn’t know why. Gods, some President he is. “Techno is- you don’t want to fight him. Please.”

Fundy’s jaw clenches and he stares down at Tubbo with this fire in his eyes (Peaks and troughs, Tubbo thinks. War and note blocks, traitor and spy, Wilbur and the person he wanted to be). “I don’t care if he’s my uncle; I need revenge.”

“Listen to me-”

Fundy takes a step closer. “I don’t care. I need to kill Technoblade. I need to make things right.”

“Listen to me!” Fundy stops. Tubbo pants, his glare seeming to hold Fundy in place. He’s never yelled like that at Fundy before- he doesn’t know if he’s ever yelled like that at anyone. “You’re not plunging this country into another war just to make yourself feel better. You’ve never fought Technoblade before- I have! If you go out there and fight him right now, you will _fucking die,_ Fundy.”

(A thousand years ago, on an island in the sky, Tommy grabs him by the shoulders. “You’re not gonna fight Technoblade, mate. Do you wanna die?”)

Fundy swallows hard, clutching the hilt of his sword. For a second, Tubbo thinks he’s about to be ignored. But then Fundy turns and kicks over a chest. He throws down the sword and screams like he’s trying to tear his lungs into pieces. Tubbo waits until he stops screaming before walking over. Then, Fundy starts to cry.

“Damn it,” Fundy spits, hunching over, clutching the front of his uniform. Tubbo sits down on the floor and crosses his legs, watching Fundy’s shadow. The shadow drops down next to him. “I fucking miss him, Tubbo.”

Tubbo puts an arm around Fundy’s shoulder. He’s the President now. He’s a leader. He has to take care of his people. “Me too.”

(He dreams about sitting around a campfire. Wilbur’s voice worming its way into his heart as they sang the anthem together. He didn’t ever think that one day he’d be the only one who still knew the words.)

-

He doesn’t remember passing out. The last thing he remembered was being in a meeting, Tommy off somewhere gathering supplies while he, Quackity, and Phil discussed the state of the treasury.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up in an unfamiliar house, in a proper bed for the first time in at least a week, Phil sitting in a chair in front of the door.

“What are you doing?”

Phil looks up from the book he’s reading, smiling. “Hey, Tubbo. Welcome back to the land of the living. I’m guarding this door.”

Tubbo rubs his eyes. “Why?”

Phil closes the book and sets it down on his lap, crossing his arms. “You haven’t been sleeping, and I’m here to change that. Tommy’s taking over until you get it through your thick skull that you need to take care of yourself first.”

Tubbo tries to stand, but his legs haven’t woken up yet. “Easy,” Phil says gently. “You’ve been out for a while.”

He feels a tightness in his chest, that familiar panic rushing back again. He can’t just sit here, not when there’s so much to be done. Not when he has to be a leader.

“And you’re gonna be out for a while more. Get some rest, Tubbo.” Phil opens up his book and starts reading again. Tubbo tells him to move, and he doesn’t. Tubbo commands him, and he just flips a page. Tubbo curls up on the bed, glaring at the wall, and Phil only gets up to hug him. “I know doing nothing is rough, but your health is more important than the things you can do. _You’re_ more important, Tubbo. I’m here to make sure you know that.”

(That night, he dreams about a flower field. He doesn’t recognize the flowers, but he thinks they’re very pretty. They’re blue. Niki would like them, he thinks.

Wilbur is sitting a few meters away. He’s not wearing the clothes he died in or his L’Manberg uniform. He’s wearing a bright yellow sweater. He looks infinitely younger, like this, without the dirt or the lines or the glare on his face. He’s making a necklace out of the flowers.

“Hello, Tubbo.”

Tubbo sits down next him and runs his hands over the top of the petals. “Hi. What kind of flowers are those?”

“They’re called Mouse Ear flowers, technically,” Wilbur replies. His smile is serene and real, nothing like any smile Tubbo ever saw him wear. “In Newfoundland, we always called them Forget Me Nots. You wear them around your neck and it symbolizes remembrance.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is.”

Tubbo closes his eyes and leans back. The sun on his face is making him sleepy. “Wilbur?”

“Yes, Tubbo?”

“Is Schlatt here?”

“He’s around, somewhere. He’ll talk to me again eventually.”

“Wilbur?”

“Yes, Tubbo?”

“Does dying hurt?” Tubbo feels the necklace of Forget Me Not’s fall around his neck.

“Not at all.”

Tubbo breathes in the smell of pollen and fresh air. He can hear bees in the distance. He leans over and rests his head on Will’s shoulder, contentment settling into his bones. “That’s good. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”)

-

Rebuilding comes along better, once Tubbo is sleeping again. His planning is more sensical, his orders less snappy. They build new houses. They fill in the crater. A new podium rises where the old one once was.

It doesn’t look anything like the old L’Manberg, but Tubbo thinks that’s a good thing, this time. L’Manberg was built from war. Tubbo doesn’t want his country to have that kind of foundation. He plants a flower garden in the spot where the gate of the wall used to stand, and the flag he flies now has softer colours.

Tommy’s around more often. Phil is here to stay. Eret and Fundy and Niki are there whenever he needs help. Quackity is the best secretary he could ask for.

Tubbo sits on top of the white house, watching the sunrise, and he realizes he’s rebuilt a lot more than this country. He’s rebuilt himself too, hasn’t he? He’s not the same kid any more. He’s not the kid that built an island with Tommy in the sky. He’s not the kid who didn’t know where to go. He’s not even the kid who went to war, who spied on Schlatt, who was shoved into power without a guide book.

He’s a different person now. And he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing.

L’Manberg will be finished. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday it will be. And, eventually, things are going to be okay again.

He doesn’t need anyone to tell him that. It’s one of those things that he just kind of knows.

(Tommy waves a hand across the horizon, one arm still around Tubbo’s shoulder. He presents the ocean like a prize possession. “Anywhere in the world, Tubbo. All of it’s up for grabs.”

Tubbo smiles at that thought. He imagines all the places he could go, all the places he’s wanted to see. “I think the Vatican City is pretty cool.”

“C’mon, think bigger than that!”

“Fine, fine. Uh, there’s that Kingdom, right? The Dream SMP? They probably won’t let us in, but it’s worth a shot.”

“That’s more like it, Tubbo. Dream SMP it is. Adventure awaits, my friend. Adventure awaits.”)

**Author's Note:**

> comment to clear my crops and water my skin.


End file.
